


Under Your Spell

by goldenwatcher



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Comfort part of Hurt/Comfort, M/M, brief female Aziraphale, brief female Crowley, discussion of past dub con/sexual assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24485020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenwatcher/pseuds/goldenwatcher
Summary: Following the events of "Old Black Magic," Crowley refuses to discuss what happened that night at the Barrett Club.  Aziraphale's guilt from hurting his friend eats at him, making his wings dingy and threatening his standing with God.  When Crowley find out during Armageddon, he forces a confrontation to prevent Aziraphale from Falling.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 73





	Under Your Spell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summerofspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/gifts), [WhiteleyFoster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteleyFoster/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Old Black Magic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23380264) by [summerofspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock). 



> This story will not make much sense if you do not read Old Black Magic. It's a great story. Thank you to summerofspockfor letting me tag on to your story, and thank you Whiteley Forster for drawing my attention to the story.

_ 1988 _

Aziraphale stepped into the club slowly, trying to focus through the flashing lights and press of bodies. Soho had become the seething center of London's scene for modern arts and music. Anyone who was a leader in fashion, art, or music played the many clubs in the area. From her bookshop, she'd seen it all and she didn't get it, not one bit. She found current fashion to be not unlike parrots or peacocks, far too eclectic for her taste. Unfortunately, her target was in the club, so this was where she was.

Of course, it was nearly impossible to get into the clubs if you weren't dressed appropriately. Aziraphale had made a vague attempt with a Greco-Romanesque dress that fell just above her knees. The draped neckline dipped low in the front and back, which made her feel rather bare, but it was a simple look that hadn't required layers or too much makeup.

Aziraphale had the random thought that modern fashion would be too much, even for Crowley. The idea was unwelcome and left a deep ache in her chest that always hurt when she thought of him. It had been over a decade since she’d seen Crowley that horrible night at the Barrett Club. She hadn't tried to reach out to him, her guilt too terrible. Aziraphale didn't know if Crowley had ever caught the witch that had ensnared him in a lust spell, but the hurt and bitterness he'd radiated suggested he had been deeply motivated.

Eleven years later, and Aziraphale's shame still burned through her. Eleven years later and her grief and guilt weighed on her chest like a stone, leaving her choked for air and bobbing at the surface of misery she couldn't describe. She wished Crowley would say something, just anything. What she'd done was unforgivable, but not knowing was eating at her.

"Hey, Betty," a voice said near her ear. Aziraphale turned her head, startled at how distracted she'd been. A young man stood there, eyeing her with delight. "Looking for a dance?"

"My name's not Betty," Aziraphale replied. She slipped off into the crowd before he could correct her. She knew the slang; she simply chose to use language to her advantage, even if that use was feigned ignorance.

Aziraphale's target was a young woman debating between embedding herself in Soho's club culture with her friends or following a calling as a nun. Aziraphale was supposed to convince her to go into the convent, so she had chosen to present herself as female. It was her experience that human women did not enjoy having someone who appeared male tell them to become a nun.

She spotted her target at the end of the bar and had a moment of sympathy for the young lady. She was a lovely thing in less makeup than most of the club-goers. The occasional young man would try to flirt with her, but she seemed rather good at convincing them to leave. She merely sat, slightly folded in on herself, looking miserable.

Aziraphale strode to the bar where she was and smiled brightly at her before flagging down a bartender for whiskey.

"No way! Is that your real hair?" the woman asked her.

Aziraphale looked at her and blinked, then glanced at the platinum curls that currently fell past her shoulder blades. "Yes, it is rather. I get that question a lot."

"No kidding," she said, sitting up. "Is it weird that I want to touch it?"

Aziraphale smiled at her, bemused, but took a few locks in hand and offered them up. The woman reverently took them and fingered the curls.

"Wow," she giggled, brightening. She gently released the hair and offered her hand. "I'm Stacy."

"Zira," Aziraphale replied. "Why are you buried here in the corner and not dancing?"

Stacy raised her eyebrows, looking over at the dance floor. "It's not really my thing. Like, I like to jam and all but clubs are a bit much." She glanced over at Aziraphale. "What about you? You look like an angel, girl. You practically glow under these lights. You can't tell me you haven't got attention."

"I came here with a friend," Aziraphale lied. "I prefer not to go to clubs myself but…" and her chest tightened again at the thought of Crowley, "he didn't want to go alone."

"Oh, I totally get that. My homegirl dragged me out. She thinks I need to live a little."

"Why is that?" Aziraphale asked, sipping her drink.

Stacy winced and looked at her drink. "Promise you won't laugh?"

"I promise."

She shrugged. "Ever since I was a little girl, I've wanted to be a nun."

Aziraphale cocked her head. "Why would I laugh about that?"

"Because everyone thinks I'm a freak for it." Stacy leaned in, spilling her hopes and concerns to the angel. Aziraphale listened with a concentration that only broke when a more obnoxious woman slid between Stacy and the wall.

"Stace, come on, you're being a total loser," the girl whined.

"I don't want to dance, Mandy." Stacy sounded tired.

Mandy opened her mouth then froze, her eyes going wide. Suddenly she grinned. "I take back everything I've ever said to you. I think I just found religion," she purred.

That really should have warned Aziraphale. Still, she was surprised to feel an arm slide against her back as someone slithered up to the bar behind her. Aziraphale could see the flash of hot jealousy in Mandy's eyes as a voice spoke in her ear.

"Hello, angel."

Suddenly, it seemed like her heart was racing at a mile a minute. Aziraphale swallowed and turned her head to look at Crowley. He had also done the bare minimum for the fashion of the day, although his hair was ridiculous. Still, he looked well, but of course, the sunglasses hid a lot.

"Hello, Crowley," Aziraphale said, trying to stay relaxed.

"Your victim is getting away," he said, gesturing with a drink.

Aziraphale looked back around, but Stacy was being dragged off to the door by her intensely jealous friend. "Rats," she muttered.

Crowley slid around her, grabbing the vacated stool. "Well, that is certainly out of character," he said, studying the dress. "It's above the knee and everything. I can almost see a breast."

"Can you?" she asked, looking down to adjust her neckline.

"Why the special presentation?"

She looked back up, terribly uneasy. Why was Crowley asking about something so banal? "I was going to convince her to be a nun like she truly wants to be. Appearing female is the best way to handle that sort of thing." She took a large swallow of her whiskey, trying to settle her fraying nerves. "And you?"

"In between assignments at the moment, so I'm sowing low-grade sins."

She frowned. "At a club?" she asked, confused.

He snorted. "Do you know how much greed, lust, and envy the two of us talking is generating?"

Aziraphale played with her drink. She should object to that, but her mind was on other matters. "Is that why you've come over then?"

Crowley shrugged, downing his drink. "It's been a while. Thought it was time to move on with things."

That should have been her first warning. "Did you ever find the witch?" she asked cautiously.

Crowley's expression remained bland. "What witch?"

She really should have caught the second warning. Instead, she wrung her fingers together, her guilt sliding up her throat to strangle her. "Crowley, I--"

"I presume that you're not interested in helping me cause a bit of mischief," he said, cutting Aziraphale off. He down the rest of his drink, rising from the stool. Before Aziraphale could stop him, he was gone.

Aziraphale looked through the crowd, trying to spot his distinctive ginger hair, but it was hard in amongst all the wild colors. She swallowed in disappointment, the weight of her guilt growing heavier. She could hardly complain. It was she who had hurt Crowley. She could not insist on discussing it to alleviate her guilt. He was the one that mattered. Silently, Aziraphale rose from her seat and left, heading home so she could finally change.

_ 1989 _

Aziraphale was seated at his desk, carefully studying his newest acquisition. Earlier in the day, a young woman had brought him a first edition of  _ The Great Gatsby _ . The book's condition was very worn, but Aziraphale could feel the love in every page. Her father had passed away two weeks ago, and the book had been his favorite. She'd had concerns about receiving a fair price for it with the damage it had. Aziraphale was only too happy to repair such a lovely book and pay for the privilege to do so.

As he turned the page and continued cataloging the damage he could fix, he heard the front door of the shop open and sighed in annoyance. He couldn't study the manuscript and make sure the rest of the books were safe from would-be purchasers at the same time. He should close up the shop once he chases this customer away. Decided, he pulled off his glasses and looked up to see Crowley walking over. The demon leaned against the edge of the desk, this time in a snake-skin skirt and teased hair.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, startled. "What a surprise." He'd rather expected another decade to pass before he'd see her again.

"Thought I'd pop in on you, see how things were going," she replied. Crowley cocked her head, studying the book lying open on the desk. "Something new?"

Aziraphale wasn't quite sure how to react to Crowley's casual attitude. It had been twenty-two years since he'd given the demon holy water and in their most extended interaction since, Aziraphale had taken advantage of Crowley during a lust spell gone wrong. The guilt of it hadn't lessened one bit since. When he had attempted to discuss it with Crowley a year ago, the demon had left. Was he supposed to pretend that it hadn't happened?

The angel licked his lips nervously. " _ The Great Gatsby _ ," he answered, closing it so that Crowley could see the cover. "Well-loved, as you can see. Are you, perchance, feeling the need for a change?" He gestured to Crowley's form.

The demon glanced down with disinterest before picking up the book with gentle hands. "Seeing you at the club reminded me how long it's been." She shrugged. "I don't think I'll keep it for long, but it does spice up the job a bit. Keeps things interesting." She put the book down and looked at Aziraphale. "Lunch?"

He wanted to question it, to ask why Crowley was acting as if nothing had happened. But then, that was what they did: the two would run into each other, and it was like no time at all had passed. The years didn't mean the same thing to virtually immortal beings like them. This was the first time it felt strange to simply move on, but with good reason. Perhaps once Crowley became comfortable, realized she was safe, maybe then they could discuss it.

Aziraphale gave her a faint smile. "Where did you have in mind?"

"Have you tried that Indian place on Argyll Street?"

"Indian sounds wonderful." Aziraphale circled the desk and offered her his arm.

_ 1991 _

The angel patiently waited until Crowley was comfortable, and they were more relaxed with each other. He didn't know what Crowley's thoughts were about what happened in the strip club. He remembered Crowley's reverent expression before Aziraphale had refused to kiss him. It haunted him in the dark hours of the night. But now it was as if nothing had happened.

Two years, Aziraphale waited. One evening, the two of them were in the back of the bookshop. Crowley had popped to the United States for a temptation and brought back a Cabernet Sauvignon from California for them to try. The flavor profile was interesting, but Aziraphale couldn't focus on it.

Earlier that week, Aziraphale had gone for a walk in St. James Park. It had been toward evening, and he'd heard a pair of lovers tucked away under the trees. He had started smiling until he'd listened to what was happening.

"Don't worry about it, babe. We're safe here," the first man crooned.

His partner sounded far more hesitant. "We're in a park, Mike. This isn't exactly ideal."

"My roommate would throw me out, and your family would lose their minds," Mike replied. There was the sound of kissing. "Just let me suck you. I can make you feel good."

Aziraphale had fled, his guilt rising until he was nearly choking on it. All week his thoughts had kept drifting back to the encounter he'd hear, then further back to 1977. He wanted so badly to beg for Crowley's forgiveness, but he had been off in the United States, of all places.

"Am I boring you, angel?"

Aziraphale looked up, startled. Crowley was frowning at him, studying his face.

"What has got you twisted in knots?" the demon asked. His sunglasses were off, eyes focused intently on Aziraphale.

He swallowed, hoping the invitation to talk was genuine. "Earlier this week, I was reminded of… well, that club."

Crowley's expression closed off and he looked away, gulping the wine. "Nothing worth talking about ever happens in a club, angel."

Aziraphale stared at him in shock. "Crowley, how can you say that? We should discuss it--"

"Discuss what?" he said, sliding his sunglasses back on. "Nothing to discuss. I gotta go in early to the Head Office tomorrow, report in and all that. Later, angel."

Before Aziraphale could do more than rise, Crowley was gone again.

_ 1992-Modern day _

It was another year until he saw the demon again.

It became an obvious pattern. Aziraphale would try to talk to Crowley about that horrible night at the Barrett Club, and the demon would disappear for a year as punishment. After a couple of repeats, Aziraphale began to suspect they never would discuss it. His desire to find a resolution, to repair the damage to their relationship, simply became the despair that wrapped itself around the weight of his pain. He eventually let Crowley have what he wanted and gave up, keeping everything locked tight inside.

It wasn't just his shame and guilt that made up the bulk of those weights on his ankles. Crowley would bring him desserts, dine with him, drink with him, but there was a distance that hadn't been there before. Perhaps they had simply grown too close before, each yearning for the other in ways that their sides would disapprove of. For an angel to love a demon, Aziraphale could be cast out to Fall. But for a demon to love an angel, it was hard to say how Hell might respond. Crowley could spin it as a temptation, but there would be scrutiny to make sure the relationship was appropriate. At worst, Hell could destroy Crowley, claiming a demon that can love as defective.

The problem was, their new dynamic was somewhere too far in the other direction. Aziraphale had known of Crowley's want, but it seemed snuffed out, a barrier between them that was impenetrable. Aziraphale could sometimes feel Crowley's eyes on him, but instead of the fondness and yearning that had once been there, there was bitterness and pain. He felt like Jacob Marley, the chains of his sins wrapped around him, slowly dragging at him, rattling in the distance between them. The memory of the pleasure, warped as it was by that thrice-damned spell, haunted him: how Crowley had looked, how he'd sounded spread out so deliciously across the blanket. Aziraphale had been horrified the first time he'd remembered the situation and feltdesire. He hadn't made an effort to manifest genitalia since that day.

Then Gabriel had appeared and spoiled his sushi.

_ Saturday _

A little thing like Armageddon tended to put things into perspective. It didn't make the pain easier; instead, Aziraphale hoisted those chains like skirts and did what he had to do to make sure the world survived. It was only on that final day that he was reminded of what he had done and the consequences of his guilt. Crowley had stopped time, taking both of them and Adam Young into a space outside of it. It had been good to stretch his wings, but also difficult. They'd seemed dingy, weighted, and Aziraphale had considered them and doubted he could fly. He wondered if he was Falling. He rather thought it would serve him right, having taken such horrible advantage of his dear friend.

But then Aziraphale had shoved all of that out of his mind. This moment was for Adam, to stand with him and give him strength, and it worked. Armageddon was averted, and the angel and demon walked to the bus stop. Crowley offered up his place to rest for the night and spoke of their side. If he was distant, the angel was hard at work trying to interpret a prophecy, if only to save his loved one.

They quickly made it back to Mayfair. Crowley led Aziraphale up to his flat with a warning to "mind the melted demon."

There hadn't been a melted demon. The mess was gone when they'd entered the flat. Crowley stared intently at the floor, as if the carpet would give away it's secrets. "I'm getting more wine," he finally mumbled and walked away.

Aziraphale found a sleek sofa that was both modern and surprisingly comfortable and sat down. He pulled the piece of prophecy from his pocket. His fingertips ran across the seared edges of the scrap as he read it yet again. "Choose your faces," he murmured. He considered it for a long moment. They could potentially change their faces, but how could that help? "Choose your faces…"

The coffee table in front of him suddenly slid back. Crowley sat on the edge of it with two glasses and a bottle of wine. His sunglasses were gone, his eyes yellow from end to end.

"My dear," Aziraphale started, concerned. "Whatever is the matter?"

Crowley set the glasses and bottle down beside him then stared hard at the angel. "I saw your wings, Aziraphale," he replied, frightfully serious. "They're dim. I've never seen that, but my guess would be that you're in the process of Falling."

Aziraphale looked down, swallowing. They had spent so long ignoring this discussion that it felt wrong to bring it to light. His finger played with the crisp edge of the paper. He didn't know what the future held for him, but he had to make sure Crowley was safe. "I will endeavor to monitor that," he said blandly, not looking up. "We should focus on this prophecy."

"Sod the prophecy!" Crowley ripped the paper from his hand, throwing it aside.

Aziraphale stiffened. "Now see here--"

"Why are you Falling?" Crowley demanded, his snake eyes focused on Aziraphale's face.

This conversation was as out of Aziraphale's control as the rest of the week, and he didn't like it. But if this was how Crowley wanted to discuss it, then so be it. "Perhaps because I sexually assaulted someone very dear to me." His tone was painfully bland, eyes focused on his hands.

Crowley looked like he was going to strangle him. "For S-- G-- jus--- for FUCK'S sake, Aziraphale! No, you didn't!"

"Do not lie to me," he snapped, his eyes hard as he glared at Crowley. "Not about this. I know what I did, and if I must Fall for it, then so be it. I will accept that judgment."

"There's no judgment," Crowley snarled back. "If you were judged, you would already be a demon. This is you, your guilt or whatever weighing you down for nothing."

"Nothing?" Aziraphale asked, face hard as a stone. "If it were nothing, then why have you avoided talking about it?"

"Because you made me feel like a cheap whore!" Crowley hissed. "And I didn't feel like discussing that."

The admission pained him. Aziraphale hadn't known; yet another way of hurting the one he cared so much for. "Yet you say I didn't assault you," he replied softly. Rather than continue the discussion, he rose, circling the table to collect the scrap of paper again.

He could practically feel Crowley struggling to collect himself. "So why haven't you done it again?"

Aziraphale whipped around so fast he nearly fell. "What?" he gasped, clutching at his waistcoat.

"Obviously, I'd let you," he continued, a touch bitter.

"You didn't let me," Aziraphale interrupted.

“Funny. I distinctly remember putting my hand down your trousers.”

You were under the effects of a lust spell.”

"Which was going to kill me."

"Yes! You didn't have a choice."

"So, you like assaulting me?"

He couldn't follow Crowley's accusations. Aziraphale sank to the floor, shocked and deeply wounded. "Crowley," he said, voice soft and cracking, "Is that what you think? That I… that I liked that?"

"What I think," Crowley said firmly, staring into the angel's eyes unblinkingly, "was that a witch cast a lust spell on me, forcing me to have sex with someone to survive. I think you striped me, but that I striped you too. You touched me, but my hands were on you too. You were forced to fuck me to save my life. That means we were both forced, so if I was assaulted, then so were you."

Aziraphale shook his head, tears stinging his eyes. "But you've been so angry," he whispered. He cleared his throat, struggling to sound calm. "You wouldn't even talk about it."

"Because I didn't need the reminder how much you hated having to fuck me," Crowley replied bitterly.

Aziraphale looked down at the paper he'd retrieved, turning it absently. "I did," he murmured. "I hated the circumstances. I hated the location. I hated how afraid I was to give you what you needed." He swallowed tightly, closing his eyes. "I love you, Crowley," he nearly whispered. "If I had kissed you, I knew in my heart that I would never have been able to stop. I might Fall, but you… I just couldn't risk it; I just…" He felt tears on his cheeks and impatiently wiped them away. "I just couldn't risk you like that."

He heard Crowley shift but just focused on the paper, his legs pulled up. In his existence, Aziraphale had never wrapped his arms around his knees and cried, but he wanted to then. But then hands were on his knees, gently pushing them apart. He looked up warily as Crowley crawled between them, the same reverent expression on his face as before at the club, before Aziraphale had ruined it by saying no. Crowley ducked in, brushing the tip of his nose briefly against the angel's.

"Say it again?" he asked, his voice small.

Aziraphale looked at him, so very close, confused. His mind raced through what he had just said. "I love you?"

Hope brightened the demon's expression. He nuzzled their noses again. "You don't sound so sure, angel."

Aziraphale lifted his hands, cupping Crowley's face. "I love you," he breathed. "I do. I'm so sorry, my dear." His throat tightened on his tears, and he set his forehead against Crowley's.

"It's too bad I won't be able to wander Hell after this," Crowley said. His tone was soft, but there was something incendiary in it, a promise of violence Aziraphale had never heard from him before. "Otherwise, a certain witch needs a visit for making my angel cry."

Aziraphale couldn't help but tsk. Rather than say anything, he tipped his head and leaned in, tentatively brushing his lips against Crowley's.

The Serpent stilled. A shiver ran through his body, and then he was crawling onto Aziraphale's lap, his lips teasing the angel's. It felt so glorious. Aziraphale used to imagine what it would be like to kiss Crowley. That had stopped that night in the club. But then Crowley kissed him again firmly, even hungrily. Aziraphale whimpered into it, holding Crowley close.

"Yes," Crowley hissed against his lips, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale's neck as he licked at the angel's lips, biting the lower one.

Aziraphale moaned, his eyes closing in bliss. Crowley took advantage of it and licked at his teeth before claiming his mouth. Aziraphale wrapped his hands around the slender length of Crowley's waist, cupping his ribs to feel him pant.

Crowley nuzzled at Aziraphale's jaw before he bit the turn of his shirt collar in frustration. "Aziraphale, get naked. I can't promise I'll be gentle."

His hands still skating over the Serpent's sides, Aziraphale frowned slightly. "Are you sure, my dear? You've been so angry, and I don't want to--"

"Because I thought you didn't want me," Crowley bit out. "I thought that was the best I was going to get." He looked down at the angel, studying him for a reason Aziraphale couldn't fathom. He appeared to reach a decision. Crowley leaned in and kissed him again, fingers sinking into snowy hair.

Aziraphale's hands nearly trembled on Crowley's waist. The kiss was breathtaking and thorough, stimulating like a craving he hadn't yet been able to satisfy. He let Crowley do as he will, move his head about to be as close as he could, surrendering to the demon's desire. The long fingers trailed from his hair to skate over his ears, on down to the tartan bow tie, then Crowley pulled, tugging the knot free. Then those quick hands moved to the buttons of his shirt and waistcoat.

The angel's heart went wild, his hands tightening on Crowley's waist. Pulse in his throat, his mouth biting gently at Crowley's lower lip, he reached up and pushed suggestively at the black coat. Crowley released him only long enough to let the coat slide from his arms before he was back tackling Aziraphale's clothes. Aziraphale broke the kiss to tip his head down and watch with a hot thrill as he slid the mesh tie from Crowley's neck.

Crowley must have found it equally inspiring because he shoved Aziraphale's coat, shirt, and waistcoat off in one go. He hissed then in irritation at the vest underneath it all before he pulled that over Aziraphale's head. Then he yanked his own shirt and waistcoat off. A few buttons most certainly went flying.

Aziraphale frowned slightly. "Really, my dear--" Crowley's mouth cut him off, tongue thoroughly sweeping through his.

"Forget the clothes, angel," he panted. Crowley's hands played over Aziraphale's chest, fingers carefully mapping. His thumbs brushed over the dusky nipples there, and the angel made a low sound in his throat, pressing closer. "What is it you like, Aziraphale?" Crowley nearly purred, cocking his head to bite at his jaw.

Aziraphale swallowed around a moan. "I'm not sure," he replied, feeling both safe and a little nervous. "I've never exactly… well, except…"

Crowley's expression lit up for a moment before his eyes narrowed dangerously. "I will find a way to fuck up that witch again." But then something devilish uncurled in his smirk. "Guess we'll just have to try a few things, won't we?" He moved back and eased Aziraphale to the ground, slithering back between his legs.

Aziraphale was thrilled with Crowley touching him, but he felt unaccountably nervous. He glanced at the couch and the coffee table, his eyes then flicking to the office door. He was acutely aware of being sprawled out on the floor as Crowley nipped at his collarbone. At least it wasn't sticky.

"Angel?"

Aziraphale blinked and looked down at Crowley. The demon was frowning. "Something wrong, my dear?" he asked hesitantly.

"I don't know. Is it?"

"Why would something be wrong?"

"You're gone stiff, and not in a good way.

"It's nothing." Crowley's frown deepened from concern into unhappy, and he started to pull away. Aziraphale just couldn't ruin this again. He grasped at the demon. "It's just… I would simply prefer… well, perhaps a bed?"

Crowley blinked slowly, taking in his words before he surged up to claim Aziraphale's mouth again. The angel's hands scrambled at the ground for a moment, trying to find something to hold on to. When Crowley backed away, Aziraphale was a bit stunned.

"Nothing but the best for my angel," Crowley replied, quickly unfolding onto his feet before pulling Aziraphale up. "That way," he pointed down a hall before hopping up to wrap himself around the angel and start worrying at one ear.

Aziraphale swayed for a moment, grasping at Crowley, but he refused to drop his precious cargo. He carried the demon down the indicated hall, determined to concentrate on their destination, not the teeth and tongue teasing him. The bed was large, covered in black silk sheets. Aziraphale sat on the edge, relieved to focus on what Crowley was doing to him.

Crowley unwrapped himself, sliding down to settle between Aziraphale's legs. He urged the angel farther up the bed then scraped his teeth over the center of his chest. "Comfy?" he asked, looking up at Aziraphale with those wide, yellow eyes.

Aziraphale nodded, his throat too tight to speak. He wasn't sure if this was what should be happening just then. Perhaps they needed to discuss it all more, but they could very well die the next day. If that was going to happen, he refused to waste further time. "I want to taste you as well," he replied.

Happiness made a smile flicker over Crowley's lips. "My turn first." He licked over Aziraphale's nipples, causing the angel to gasp and arch. He nipped and teased until the first one was sensitive and peaked then moved on to the other.

"Are you going to make another cock for me?" Crowley asked into Aziraphale's stomach, predatory eyes sharp. His hands skated the angel's hips, plucking at the trousers.

Aziraphale very nearly whined. He didn't know what to do with his hands, whether he should grasp at the bed or Crowley's shoulders or hair. "D-do you want that?" he stuttered.

"I would like to suck it."

The angel swallowed hard and concentrated on the genitalia Crowley requested. When it appeared, it immediately started to harden, leaving Aziraphale dizzy with desire. "Crowley," he moaned, carding his fingers through the dark ginger hair.

Crowley hummed in pleasure, watching as the cream trousers tented. He unfastened them and the pants underneath, pulling them open and down. He ran his nose up along the underside of Aziraphale's cock, followed quickly by his tongue. Aziraphale moaned, trying not to arch and shove himself into Crowley's face. His hands flew to the sheets, clutching as he worked hard to be still.

"It's okay, Aziraphale," Crowley murmured, lapping at the hot, swollen flesh. One of the angel’s hands eased the tight grip on the sheets and moved it up to his hair.

Aziraphale whimpered, his moans trapped in his throat. He had to be careful. He couldn't just lose it, to push and pull at Crowley. Perhaps Crowley wanted him to feel helpless, to drive him wild so that he'd know how awful it had been. The thought was wrong: Crowley didn't want him to feel helpless, but now that the idea was there, he could feel himself shrink back. He closed his eyes, trying to relax and focus on Crowley.

The demon moved out from under his grasp, allowing his hands to fall back to the sheets. He didn't open his eyes, refusing to doubt, to be afraid of being vulnerable. It was after a moment of shuffling around that Aziraphale felt Crowley crawl back over him.

"It's okay, angel," Crowley murmured in his ear. He moved to lay back between Aziraphale's legs. It quickly became noticeable by the hot expanse of skin against his that Crowley was bare, pressing their cocks together. Aziraphale gasped in surprise, his eyes snapping open. He looked down to see Crowley without a stitch of clothing on him. The demon undulated, and Aziraphale whined, involuntarily arching into him. It caused Crowley's breath to shudder in his ear, pulling a deep moan from Aziraphale.

"I love you too, angel," Crowley whispered. "I had thought that I was going to get a pale imitation of what I wanted. This," he undulated again, rubbed over Aziraphale, "this is what I wanted." He tipped his head, nibbling on the earlobe. "I've spent hours dreaming about this, about you, my perfect angel."

Aziraphale's heart was pounding in his chest, the words surging through him like an updraft catching under his wings. He surged up to meet Crowley and tried to wrap his legs around the demon. His clothing got in the way, and he made a disgruntled noise.

Crowley's smirk flashed then gentled into a fond smile. "May I take off the rest of your clothes?”

Something in his voice hitched, causing Aziraphale to look up at him. There was eagerness but also vulnerability and fear. Crowley was also fighting his own pain, and Aziraphale's resolve hardened. Perhaps they each had their issues with what had happened, but they would get through it together.

"Yes," Aziraphale replied, arching up to press against Crowley. They both gasped together, Crowley pressing his face into Aziraphale's neck. Then he crawled down and worked the antique clothing off.

For a long moment, Crowley's eyes just swept over his angel, taking in every detail. That soft, reverent look was back as his gaze finally flicked up to meet Aziraphale's. Crowley was so beautiful, so perfect that the angel's love swelled through his being. Aziraphale held up his arms, opening them to his beloved. Something fragile flashed over Crowley's face, then he crawled into the welcoming arms, tasting and nibbling as he went. Their lips met again, pressing hard to one another as if they could meld.

Crowley slid down a bit, pressing his forehead to Aziraphale's collarbone. He breathed for a moment even as he slid his hand down to pull once at Aziraphale's cock. The angel gasped, his hips shooting up as Crowley continued down, skating past the perineum to circle his entrance. Crowley looked up at him, again questioning. Aziraphale repeated his previous, breathy "Yes." A miracle had him slicked, which felt rather odd. Then Aziraphale was thoroughly distracted by one long finger sliding inside of him.

On reflex, Aziraphale's legs tightened around Crowley. He rolled his hips up on a moan, delighting in how it had the digit sliding inside of him. "Crowley," he panted.

The demon chuckled. "Not just yet, angel. You can't just dive into this. Slow and steady, like all your other pleasures."

"I'm going to remind you of those words at some future date, I'm sure."

In payback, a second finger joined the first. "That sentence was far too long with my finger in your arse," Crowley observed.

Aziraphale thumped his head back against the bed, writhing. His hands twisted in the sheets. "Crowley, please," he gasped, wanting to feel more. It wasn't just being filled, although he wanted that. He wanted to feel Crowley's hips moving between his legs, the demon's body rolling against his. He wanted heat and skin and pressure and, more than anything, to wrap himself completely around Crowley, nothing else in the world besides them.

Crowley eased a third finger in, observing Aziraphale. The angel sighed, utterly unconcerned. There was a twinge, but it was easily ignored by someone built for battle. He pressed up into the movement of Crowley's hand until the fingers curled, seeking. Aziraphale didn't expect the hot pleasure that came from it and nearly knocked his hips hard into Crowley's, crying out in surprise and delight.

"You knew about that, yes?" Crowley asked, rubbing with determination.

"Yes. I…" He couldn't think, pleasure sparking thought him, making it almost impossible to be still. He wanted to grab and insist, but he kept his hands firmly in the sheets, gasping. "Crowley…"

The fingers left, making Aziraphale whine in protest. Crowley settled between his legs then slid inside, his breath catching in his throat.

"Oh," Aziraphale breathed and looked up at Crowley. The demon looked as stunned as he felt, and suddenly Aziraphale understood. He knew how Crowley had felt those years ago, looking up at his angel.

"Kiss me?" Aziraphale asked, stroking his hands over Crowley's arms, where they supported the demon above him.

Crowley's expression crumpled. Before Aziraphale had the chance to become alarmed, Crowley's mouth was on his, their breaths intermingling before the demon's tongue stroked over his. Crowley carefully moved his hips, and Aziraphale's hands tightened on his biceps. He tried to gasp while Crowley mapped his mouth, forgetting he didn't need to. Aziraphale lifted his hips encouragingly, asking for more.

It was so very different than before. There was a strong desire to crawl into Crowley, to become part of him. Aziraphale wrapped his legs around Crowley's hips, holding him as close as he could. Crowley reached down with one hand and urged his hips to tip slightly. The next thrust had Aziraphale crying out in joy and pleasure. He scrambled for the demon, burying fingers into his hair.

"Crowly, my love… oh, please," he begged, his body tightening up. He was familiar with orgasming, but this was different than what he'd experienced before. In a way, it almost felt like flying, and he was so close to being free.

The hand that had adjusted him grasped his cock, stroking and causing another delighted cry. "Come on, angel," Crowley panted, eyes unblinking as he watched Aziraphale fall apart. "I want to see you lose it. Come for me."

Aziraphale couldn't stand it. His body locked tight around Crowley as he came, hands tightening in Crowley's hair as he cried out triumphantly. Crowley was not far behind him, his sharp teeth sinking into Aziraphale's neck. The pain was intense and immediate and again felt like one of those updrafts that made his heart soar.

The two of them laid tangled on the bed, not wanting to move away in the slightest. Crowley flicked his tongue over the bite before he sighed. "So, yeah. No more Falling."

Aziraphale burst out with a laugh, his head thumping back into the bed.

Crowley frowned at him, the edges twitching as he tried not to smile. "This was a very stern lesson, angel. You should be taking this more seriously."

"Well, you know me, my dearest. We may need to repeat the lesson a few times for it to really sink it." But then Aziraphale sighed, releasing his legs from around Crowley. "We truly do need to study that prophecy. I, for one, would like to be around for more of your lessons."

"The prophecy?" Crowley repeated. He shifted his position so that he could run his fingers over the soft, white curls on Aziraphale's chest. Then he shrugged. "We switch bodies, pour our essences into each other. That way, I go to Heaven and you go to Hell, in each others' body."

If Crowley hadn't been sprawled across him, Aziraphale would have bolted upright. "That's brilliant! How did you come up with that?"

"It's possession, right? The trickiest part would be teaching you how but since you've already possessed someone, I don't have to. Come morning, we'll be ready for whatever they throw at us."

There were still hours left until dawn. Relief poured through the angel. "That might just do it, you clever serpent!"

Crowley looked up at him, his gaze heated. "Aziraphale, that night at the Barrett Club: do you remember how many times I orgasmed?"

Aziraphale blinked down at him, wilting slightly. "Three," he replied, bemused by the change in topic.

Crowley's smile was delighted and devious. "Let's see if we can beat that, shall we?" he asked and then ducked down the pale body below him.

Aziraphale gasped.


End file.
